Starfire

Chapter 16: -Irksome Captors-

   The whole ship was falling apart and clearly well-used. It smelled like alcohol, sweat, and sour rust. In the corner of the room, resting atop a trash-littered table, were the dismantled remains of his leg braces. They had taken them, only to give them a once-over and discard them immediately when they were deemed useless. Once again, he could hardly blame them. The things had been outdated even when they had first been given to him. But even so, the carelessness made him bristle.

   He stepped forward, ignoring the cringing trio of aliens and suppressing a shudder when something squelched beneath his paw. There was an obstacle course of refuse between him and his target, but he finally reached the corner and was able to get his paws on the ragged frame of metal. He quickly took it in, glad that it was easy to pick out of the mound, hoping and relatively certain that it was still whole. There was only one way to know for sure if the mechanics were all there.

   He got his answer when he Shifted, and his legs remained solid beneath him. The mental blueprints of the thing had become ingrained in his mind, so much so that they were very nearly a part of him, and the Shift was effortless. He took an experimental half-step, flexed his legs one at a time, and then turned back to observe the renewed shock of his three newest friends.

   "What are you?" the woman asked, head listing sideways.

   "Why didn't you tell us that you're a shapeshifter?" The Suna, in his enthusiasm or anger, took a step forward, fear seemingly forgotten.

   Najma shrugged blandly, at a loss. "You didn't ask."

   For a moment, he thought he hadn't spoken out loud. His mind was muddled. He hadn't realized until after it was gone, but being a Yu-Liang again seemed to scramble his head. Or perhaps he'd been crazy for so long that it was stranger to go back to being sane. He felt compressed, forced back into shackles after finally being free. Even his braces felt constricting where he had gone years without even noticing they were there, for the most part.

   The Suna leaned over to the Gapstig, whispering a few short words. The reptile's acidic eyes widened infinitesimally before he spoke: "Either way, it doesn't matter. You're still our prisoner."

   Najma's many questions returned to the forefront of his mind, and now he had a way of getting answers.

   "Why? Why am I your prisoner?" He tried to fight the outrage, but it just didn't make sense. Why knock him out and drab him along? Why? No matter how desperately he strived to make the right choices, he always did something wrong.

   The Gapstig shrugged, eyes shifting to give Najma a once-over. "Why not?" he lazily flicked his huge but useless gun. "More money for us."

   The reptilian alien began to laugh, and a moment later, the other two joined in until their mocking laughter filled his ears and aggravated his already sore temper. He should Shift back and give each of them a solid cuff to the side of the head. Oh, how he wished he could. Had it really felt like this, all that time he'd been trapped in the Alliance— and trapped in this form? He hadn't felt himself, sure, but now he was suffocated by his own skin.

    He held his tongue and waited for silence to return.

   "We've decided that you have to pay us three thousand Ag, or get someone else to pay it for you, as a ransom." the human spoke, the corner of her mouth turning up in a devilish smirk.

   That couldn't be right.

   They knew he was just a soldier, nothing more than an Alliance grunt, but the amount they were demanding was a small fortune.

   The Agentum was much like its language counterpart: Quadrant Common. The two had spread together, like a disease. Most planets and even some systems had their own local currency, but the Ag was a way to generalize monetary value and make commerce easier. The value differed slightly, depending on where it was exchanged, but no matter where it was, anyone would know the value of three thousand Ag. You could buy practically anything, and go definitely anywhere.

   Another bout of laughter silenced his incredulous protests.

   "Anyways," the Gapstig waved a hand through the air. "We have work to do, so you can go off and do whatever it is that you do. Just don't touch the bottles."

   They all laughed again, at which point the human began to cough on her own spittle, which seemed positively outrageous to her two companions. He left them in their hysteria, bracing himself for the rancid odor of the outside hall.

   It was no wonder how they'd managed to get their ship back from the Alliance. Anything in better shape would have been converted to serve in the fleet. Not a single hangar worker would have wanted to touch this sack of garbage with a ten-foot pole. It was likely on its way to the crusher when they reclaimed it and spirited him away from the Intrepid.

   With nowhere else to go, and dreading the thought of exploring the dank recesses of such a vessel, he returned to the only clean space that he had yet seen: the small hole in the wall that had served as his cell. Now that he had a way out and his leg braces back, he'd feel much more at ease within the tight space. In fact, it might prove a temporary refuge from his irksome captors.

   He sat against the back wall of the small gap and allowed his thoughts to consume his attention.